Archive for February, 2017

ok so… I got some thoughts going on in my head. I’m not sure it’s linear enough for a blog post. I’m all over the place. There’s a central theme, but, well… You’ll see if you can handle the ramble.

Feminism vs anti-feminism?

I just tried to google the opposite of feminism and really there isn’t a word.

Misogyny isn’t necessarily the opposite. Obviously you can’t be misogynistic and a feminist… but being anti feminism doesn’t necessarily mean something as malicious as misogyny, right?

I feel like I fit somewhere in between (not between misogyny and feminism, but feminism vs anti-feminism). I believe in a balance. I believe in the Ying-Yang of life and the universe. But I also think women can do it all… within the biological realm of reality anyway.

So…

When I’m at work I want to be treated equally. Same pay and compensation. Same expectations and repercussions. I NEED my male co-workers to see me on an equal level. I need them to not crack comments about my mood and hormones. I need them to not ask me to coordinate the baby shower next month. I need them to feel like they can come to me for work advice because I’m just as good as the next guy. All these things are the not the case and it drives me insane. Working in a male dominated field isn’t the most zen experience of my life. These guys don’t even hear anything wrong with the things they say! Open your ears! I could go on and on about what these guys think are okay. I MEAN ON AND ON AND ON FEMALE-HORMONE-RANT STYLE…. 😐 hm.

Then there’s that… I am female. And I do have to deal with hormones on a monthly basis. And guess what? Those males I work with, they have to deal with me during those times too. And it’s a true statement to say that hormones effect my mood. And sometimes very drastically so. It’s not something I can help too much. This is a fact of life. No amount of feminism is going to undo do the fact that the chemistry in my body is reeking havoc on almost all function of my body. IT. JUST. IS. Women ARE different. So when I storm out because some fucking fuck face says something misogynistic about lipstick and credit cards in my purse because I JUST CAN’T handle stupid shitty comments like that they are most certainly not wrong about it being my time of the month. GRRR. What do we do with those moments, feminists??? How could I possibly combat that??? lol I mean, when I flip out over a misogynistic comment because my hormones won’t allow me to smile and nod and maybe even retort with something flippantly witty…? It’s comical, right? Well, it’s comical in 4 to 7 days, anyway….

But… I want to be a girl. I want to be treated like something special. I want to feel the protection a man can provide. I want to be able to hand a jar of pickles over to a man to muscle that sunuvabish open. Just like I want to be someone a guy can lean on for support. I want to be that safe place a man can come and crumble upon because he knows the massive amount of respect I have for him and the amount of warm, soft, feminine comfort I have waiting for him to crash into. I want to fill in his gaps and I want my gaps to be filled (sexually and otherwise – ba dum chhhh). I want to be the ying to his yang. I want to flow together so well we are better than two puzzle pieces… Like oil and water coming together with perfect, visible seems. Touching each other whole-y, but both very separate and different. You can see one. You can see the other. They are very distinct.

When it comes to significant others and their roles in the household I think that should just be something agreed upon between the two. When I was married, I was happy to do dishes if I didn’t have to mow the lawn. I’m okay with that trade off of responsibilities. My ex husband HATED laundry but didn’t mind vacuuming the stairs, which i hated! He liked to fix things and he liked to make things look better. I’m bad at it, so I was happy to have him use tools that I wasn’t comfortable using and making things look good because he had the better decorative eye. When he took on special tasks like cleaning the garage I didn’t mind taking on a larger load in the house. I’d much rather be in the comfort of the AC.

So here I am. I strongly feel my feelings and opinions and beliefs and preferences should be considered AND VALUED. But I’m not going to be weird when I’m cooking dinner for 2. And I want to be your princess too.

Okay… another HUGE ASPECT THAT PROMPTED THIS WHOLE TRAIN OF THOUGHT TODAY:

Where’s the line at work? Where’s the line in my brain? I LOVE to wear a skirt and high heels. It makes me good about myself. I love feeling sexy. I don’t know of a single thing I can do that delivers the same feeling. I can’t quite put my finger on it. I don’t do it because I want some man to undress me with his eyes, or admire me walking down the hallway, or for someone else’s pleasure. I don’t think. Is that denial? I hope not. I love how I feel when I think I look sexy. If I leave the house and I don’t feel cute, I don’t have a good day. Period. End of discussion. My day is shitty. My self confidence: tanked. My body image: poor.

So how does feminism come into play there? Am I anti-feminist because I enjoy feeling sexy and powerful purely by the clothes I wear and the body under them?? What’s that about? Gimme equal pay, but lemme where some stilettos, k? I don’t know.

Last tangent, swear: Interesting offshoot about women in corporate environments. The ones that dress sexy or dress flattering for their figure always look younger at older ages. The women in heels and a skirt… they look 20 years younger than those women that wear the frumpy slacks. Whats that about? Why are those types of women more likely to take care of themselves in other ways? Is it just our vanity? But is it vanity or healthy pride? Are the other women just choosing other values and other things that make them feel good? I’m sure that’s what it is. They have a different priority list and their clothes choice just isn’t there. But then neither is their health…. I don’t know. Major ramble at this point.

When things are bad we can’t wait for them to end. I mean, duh. Who wants to be in a bad situation. It’s intuitive. Barely worth mentioning. Like, I’ve just wasted 10 seconds of your life.

This morning I was drinking an extra yummy cup of coffee. I don’t drink coffee much any more and so I drank it with extra appreciation. But something happened half way through the cup. I started getting sad that it was going to end so soon. It was A FANTASTIC CUP OF COFFEE. I loved EVERY SINGLE SIP. But here I was unable to fully enjoy this AMAZING cup of coffee because it was sooooo good I never wanted it to end.

Is it worth having something so good if halfway through it I swing as low as I was high from the coffee? It’s kind of a roller coaster, right, when we get something that’s too good? Like kids on Christmas morning crying after they open their last gift. What happened to the joy of opening the other gifts? Is it worth all the excitement and joy from opening SO MANY AMAZING GIFTS?

We humans are so weird. We fight contentment. In fact, being content is almost a bad word. Like, if we aren’t feeling some discord then we must not be working hard enough or life isn’t good enough. “No pain no gain.” Maybe those cliches are just so we don’t throw huge pity parties for ourselves… Or maybe those cliches simply exist so we can tell that to someone else throwing a pity party. I don’t know. Did I just change the subject? Oh yeah, here’s where I was going:

So we fight bad times and times of contentment, but then when we get something too good we mourn it prematurely… All things for a season right? If the bad times are a phase, so are the good times, right? But maybe that’t just another cliche… so we have words of comfort.